She woke up in the backseat of a car. The sun shone directly through the windshield, but she was wracked with shivers.
Lauren and Duncan lay in the front seats. His seat reclined, Duncan's head lolled to the side and his eyes settled on Jenna. "You okay?"
"Fine." She didn't remember screaming herself awake. Maybe it was just the look on her face. Sitting up, she eyed herself in the rearview mirror. She was a perfect picture of misery.
They were in the Liberty Auto lot, in one of the few stripped vehicles still sitting out. This one had windows intact and locking doors, that was all that mattered. Lauren idly turned the stereo knobs. "Maybe the keys are still in the office?" She wondered aloud.
"Isn't going to run without wheels, hon." Duncan said. Lauren narrowed her eyes. "I mean for the radio."
"Does it matter?" Duncan stretched his arms, yawned and studied the streets. They hadn't been followed by the rotter with the dog's-skull, he was pretty sure of that. He'd sat erect through the night, waiting to see it, until finally passing out.
"There could be food inside." Jenna said.
"Doubt it."
"It's still worth a look, isn't it? God, Duncan, if you want we'll go look and you can stay here and play-drive."
He scoffed and threw open his door. "Way to lead, O'Connell."
"Who said I was the leader?"
"You haven't listened to a damn thing I've said. I did the math."
Lauren and Jenna walked together behind Duncan on their way to the sales office. "I know what it means when you talk to a guy like that." Lauren said softly. Jenna elbowed her in the breast. "Don't start."
Duncan checked for zombies and gave the all-clear. The first thing Jenna saw upon entering was a toppled vending machine, its contents gone. Duncan yanked open a few desk drawers. "Nope, no food here. Anyone need a pen?"
Jenna stared at a banner sagging from the ceiling across the room. WELCOME TO THE LIBERTY FAMILY. She imagined that the Liberty Family wasn't looking too good these days!
"I found it!" Lauren cried. "A radio!" She held up a small boombox, then placed it on the nearest desk and pulled on the antenna. The radio signal was faint, like the batteries were on their last legs, but there was a signal. A voice.
"The withdrawal is proceeding on-schedule, even as thousands of civilians join the troops in their move inland. Measures are already in place to provide medical aid and nourishment to everyone that's answered the Senate's call. Seven states with powered and fortified cities are ready to house the American population."
The voice was Senator Gillies of New England. Most of his territory had been wiped out. "Most important of all," Gillies went on, "to answer a question that I'm sure is on every American's lips - the dead are NOT following us inland. Rather, they are descending upon each coastal city as the living vacate. So it is more prudent than ever that we come together as a people. Your Senate and military have spent months planning this operation, and we assure you that, together, we will succeed."
"Bullshit." Duncan said. He punched the radio's Off button. "The zombies aren't following them? What a load of buuuuull-sheet."
"So? The zombies are after everyone. Might as well hedge our bets with a military convoy." Lauren snapped.
"They're LYING. Get it? If they're lying about that, they might be lying about everything else." Duncan shook his head at the girl. Her face reddened. "Lauren, ever read about when New York fell? After evacuations failed, they told everyone to gather in hospitals, stadiums, they said everyone would be protected. It's all bullshit. All it takes is for one barricade to slip, for one survivor to get bit and hide it beneath his sleeve. People forget it's a fucking virus that's spreading this. You concentrate the population, all you do is speed infection. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get it. Fuck the establishment, every man for himself. I get it. You're too scared and stupid to put your trust in other people." Lauren turned and stalked into a manager's office.
Jenna said nothing. Sighing, Duncan turned the radio back on.
"Hi." Zaharchuk murmured behind Jenna's ear. She felt the barrel of a gun nudge her neck.
The dealer's face was gaunt and translucent, his hair missing in spots where it had been pulled out. An unlit cigarette dangled between his lips; baggies filled with white rocks were tied around the belt loops of his jeans.
Duncan sat up. Zaharchuk put the gun on him, staying behind Jenna. "So," he said in his lilting voice, "I was just at Fetish. Went to see my friend Syl, ya know?" He sniffed, laughed. "You cut his fucking head off? Why'd you have to do that?"
"No," Duncan said, "It was a rotter- -"
Lauren exited the manager's office. Zaharchuk turned the gun on her with a scream. "STAY THERE!! EVERYONE STOP MOVING!!"
"Okay. No one's moving." Duncan stammered. "Turn that fucking radio off!" Zaharchuk ordered. Duncan got a good look at the gun; it was a .50 Desert Eagle. Seven in the magazine at best, maybe one in the chamber. Overkill for a dealer in a ghost town, even with the occasional zombie. He was itching to use it, too. "Z," Duncan said slowly, "Listen. A rotter killed Syl. He was trying to climb outside. Why would we murder him?"
"Why would you leave?" Zaharchuk spat. "I came back and...and..."
"We didn't know you'd come back." Jenna said. She could see the pistol shaking in the corner of her eye. "We're here now, all right?"
"I don't want to stay with you people." Zaharchuk whispered. He backed toward the door, alternating his aim between Duncan and Lauren. "You killed him, you fed Syl to the zombies. You'll do it to me. No. NO!!!" He bolted out of the building.
No one moved. They waited, waited for him to reappear and start shooting, for it all to end. He didn't come back.
"We should get going." Jenna said. Duncan nodded in agreement. Lauren pointed to the manager's office and said, "There's a hall that goes to the rear exit."
"Good idea." Duncan looked at Jenna. "You okay?"
"It wasn't pointed at me." She replied, and went into the manager's office.
14.
Surf and Turf
"Was that the garbage man I shot?" Patrol Officer Douglas asked, propping his rifle on the bucket seat beside him. P.O. Hamman shrugged and kicked an empty cooler across the floor. Every beer he'd drank had made him more seasick as they patrolled the Harbor coast, but it was better than being sick and sober. Steadying himself on the boat's railing, Hamman stepped into the pilot cabin and slapped the radio. "Damn thing. I know I heard something about a storm earlier."
"So let's go to shore." Douglas rummaged through their dwindling supply of ammunition. "We can camp on the beach for a few nights."
"I'd rather drop anchor and stay out here." Hamman replied. Every rotter they'd picked off was probably on its feet and walking through the city. In better days, they'd been able to radio the positions of downed zombies to burn teams on the shore; now they were alone. "What if we're the only cops left in town?" Hamman mused.
"Then we can run ashore and steal some more beer." Douglas quipped. He stared down the barrel of his sniper rifle, finger brushing the trigger. Another ounce of pressure and he could send his brains out across the water like chum for fish, the living ones anyway. Hamman eased his partner's head out of harm's way. "I need to eat something, man."
"We could cast a couple of lines and see if anything's still biting."
"Fuck fish. Dammit..." Hamman really didn't want to go ashore, even for an hour. He'd fired two dozen rounds into the city in recent weeks. There were rotters waiting for him, his bullets swimming in their soft guts. When he managed to catch a few hours' sleep he always saw their gray faces crowding around him. And he was always helpless to defend himself, or even to run away.
Douglas scanned the city through his rifle scope. "You know, us being stuck out here, with only these guns, we can't kill the rotters."
"I know."
"We could stop there from being more of 'em."
Hamman frowned at Douglas. "Whaddaya mean?"
"I mean, anybody still
in the city's gotta be infected. Or will be. Right?"
"I still don't follow."
"Buddy, if WE got rid of 'em, like now, we could go home."
Hamman was chilled to his core. Douglas smiled as if he'd just crapped a kitten out on the deck. "We'd be done, we could call off the patrol and get the hell outta here! Think about it!"
"I ain't shooting civilians." Hamman said slowly. "You need to listen to what's coming out of your mouth. Been drinking seawater again?"
"Irrelevant." Douglas scooted another empty cooler out from under his seat and beckoned to Hamman. "Look what I found." He pried open the lid.
Inside lay a severed fish head, ragged pink tissue trailing from its gaping mouth, a mouth that opened and closed as its eye darted back and forth.
"Douglas..."
"I think it's funny." Looking up at Hamman, Douglas scowled as if offended. "It's a JOKE! C'mon! Holy Christ, we're not at a funeral here. You need to loosen up."
"Loosen up?! You were talking about murdering people!"
"They're already dead, they just don't know it." Douglas picked up the fish head. "They're like this guy here. See? And so are we, except we don't want to stay in this town! It's them that's keeping us here!"
"No." Hamman stepped back into the cabin. "If you want to leave, just leave now. Go. I won't tell anybody. I'll take you in to shore and you can just go. You'll leave that goddamn gun here, but you can go."
"We're partners." Douglas tossed the fish head overboard and wiped his hands on his pants. "I'm not gonna leave you behind."
"It's either that or stay with me and shoot rotters."
Douglas seemed to consider the ultimatum. He sat back and gazed over the ocean, watching clouds gather on the horizon. He saw a dorsal fin skimming the surface of the water and grasped his rifle. "Shark? No, dolphin." He pointed and stood up. "You see it Hamman?"
"Yeah, great."
Douglas took aim at the dorsal. Hamman almost made a move to stop him. Almost. But he saw his partner's eyes glazed over with madness and stayed put.
The rifle bucked in Douglas' hands. A chunk of the fin sailed into the air. "HA! Nailed the fucker." The fin stayed visible, and he followed it with the scope. "Five will get you twenty that he's undead. I'll bet his head is right...about...there..."
Something knocked against the boat, spilling Douglas onto the floor. He swung around and spotted more fins at his back. "It's a school or pod or whatnot of the fuckers! Get your rifle, Hamman!"
Hamman stayed in the cabin, fiddling with the radio. No signal.
Douglas righted himself and aimed for one of the other dolphins. The boat rocked again. "Dammit!"
Standing straight up, he fired through the floor.
"Douglas!!" Hamman left the cabin now, grabbing his partner's wrists, but Douglas fired again and again into the floor. Water spurted over their feet. "What've you done??" Hamman cried.
"I dunno." Douglas stared blankly at the holes he'd made. "Well, why were they bothering us anyhow?"
Hamman spun Douglas to face him and shook him by the shoulders. "They WEREN'T!!"
Douglas pulled himself away from Hamman and sat back in his bucket seat. "Huh."
He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Hamman stood and watched Douglas' brain matter spray into the air and then pepper the waters above the heads of the dolphins. One of them poked its head out to look at Hamman, and he saw that most of its snout and the skin around its eyes were gone. A pinkish stream shot out its blowhole and it descended below the surface.
Hamman started the motor and headed to shore. He never saw the wet hands clambering over the boat's rear, never heard the squishing of footsteps entering the cabin, felt nothing at all until teeth sank into his neck.
Gene stumbled back as the boat ran aground. Hamman's corpse fell atop him, still gushing blood, and Gene opened his mouth to catch it.
He sat on the deck for hours, watching the sun crawl across the sky as he chewed. The weakness in his arm, where he'd earlier been shot, went away.
Then he remembered something. Eating until his stomach could hold no more, he climbed off the boat and headed back to the landfill. He would return once he had his shovel.
15.
Tea in Hell
Harry, at twenty-four, had been the eldest of Addison's adopted children. Two years his junior, Baron Tetch never wasted an opportunity to remind Harry and his other siblings who the man of the house was. He arranged for tea in the early afternoon, and they all gathered in the sitting room, which looked into a lovely wooded atrium, sun streaming down through its skylight. Harry served tea.
Tetch looked around the room to see that they were all holding their cups properly, dressed and groomed neatly for the occasion. Bailey had a spot of dried blood on his cheek. Tetch grimaced. Lily, of course, looked and behaved perfectly. So much easier to train a person than an animal.
Aidan looked questioningly at Tetch. The latter nodded his permission, and Aidan spoke in a garbled, broken voice, as if he did not truly understand the words he was saying.
"Lurvley day."
"Love-ly, Aidan."
"Lo...lurvely."
Tetch took a slow sip of chamomile. "Harry, another sugar." The afterdead in his butler's uniform hastened across the room.
"I saw a bird on the fence today." Lily said brightly. "You didn't touch it, did you?" Tetch replied. Lily's smile faded slightly but she pressed on. "Of course not. I just looked at it. It was three colors - brown, red and white."
Tetch raised a hand to silence her and leaned forward in his chair. "Ruth, your dress." A brackish stain was spreading across the material covering her legs. The undead looked down and lifted the dress. Tetch gasped, not at the fact she was naked beneath, but at the gaping flayed wounds extended from toe to thigh. "What did you do?" Ruth gave him a vacant stare. Must have been some rudimentary attempt at shaving. But shaving what?? She didn't eat near enough to be growing new hair. Sakes alive, she was wearing a wig! "Get out," he growled. "Disgraceful."
As Ruth shuffled past the others, Lily patted her hand. Tetch's glare burned into the little girl's head, but she would not meet his eyes.
"Man." Aidan said, tea dribbling down his chin.
"What, Aidan?"
"Man, at outside. Yurst-day."
"Yes-ter-day, Aidan. It's not worth teaching you to speak if you're going to sound like a mongrel."
"Yes."
"Anyway, what man?" Was it the man Lily had told her about last night? "Outside the fence?"
"Yes."
"He was meat?"
"No." Came the answer. But Lily had said the stranger was alive...no matter, the child was probably mistaken. "So he was like you, then."
"No."
Tetch sighed. Aidan, the most able of his servants, had seemed worthy of speaking privileges. But he didn't know what he was saying. Just making nonsense sounds to placate the hand that fed him.
"So the man wasn't alive, and he wasn't dead either. Very good."
Lily realized what Aidan was talking about and picked up his end of the conversation. "His eyes were all black. They were pretty."
"I don't want to hear any more talk about this man." Tetch said. "Aidan, you and Uriel walk the grounds tonight, until sunrise. Lily, forget about it. Understood?"
"Yes, I guess."
"Don't give me any crap young lady."
There was a thud beneath them. Sawbones in the cellar. Tetch took another drink and tried to force the thought of strange dark men from his mind, but it brought memories to the surface...
He was thirteen, Lily's age, when he first came to the house. Dr. Addison was a large, steely-eyed man who always wore his lab coat, and was usually flanked by an equally imposing Great Dane. He usually took dinner by himself in the cellar. None of the children were allowed down there; it was said to house his research on the zombie plague. Whether or not that meant there were rotters in the basement, Tetch had never dared ask.
&nb
sp; One morning he'd gone upstairs and into Addison's study. The doctor was there, turned away from the door, a box on his desk. As Tetch silently watched Addison had poured a cup of dead flies into the box. A moment later, they filled the air around the doctor's head.
He saw Tetch, saw accusatory eyes. "Baron!" He thundered across the floor. The boy scarcely made it out the door before a hand clapped down on the back of his head, then all was dark.
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